


now i'm freefallin'

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, High School AU, Sort Of, all of our women do SPORTS, just barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 19:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19026019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Against every fiber of her being screaming that she shouldn't, Jemma tries out for the volleyball team.She probably should've listened to herself.





	now i'm freefallin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheQueenInTheNorth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenInTheNorth/gifts).



> so the prompt was "you fainted....straight into my arms. if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes" and in true fashion, it ran away from me. this is also loosely based off of the time I humiliatingly tried out for my high school volleyball team as a freshman because I thought I was the shit. minus the whole passing out thing and all.

Jemma didn’t know why she’d agreed to try out for the volleyball team in the first place. 

Scratch that. She knew  _ exactly  _ what had driven her to show up at the high school track today. It was just the fact of admitting it out loud that had her stopping short. Because if she even partially admitted why she’d chosen to try out for the most popular team in school (“never mind that it’s a sport for  _ tall  _ people, Jemma, you’re like, a pipsqueak,” her Daisy had scoffed), Fitz and aforementioned friend would be over her faster than chocolate ganache over a freshly buttercream-frosted chocolate cake. 

_ “The volleyball team?” Mrs. Simmons’ theory that her daughter had been replaced by a pod alien was looking more and more likely. Never in a million years would she have imagined Jemma requesting a check for the  _ sports  _ fee, of all things. “But I thought you hated sports?” She could even remember when Jemma’s precocious five-year-old self had plonked down her Little League softball bat in the middle of her first practice in protest.  _

_ “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart?” Jemma suggested halfheartedly, trying to avoid every single one of her family members’ eyes. “You always hear so many stories about people that do sports staying healthier. I would just like to be one of those people.”  _

_ “I don’t think it’s  _ sports _ she wants to do,” her older sister Piper snorted into her soda, and it took everything Jemma had not to throw her serving of mashed potatoes at her.  _

_ “I will neither confirm nor deny.”  _

Her poor mum, really. If she’d thought she’d hated sports at the age of five, gym class had only exacerbated her hatred for anything associated with physical activity. As much as she hated it, though, she got to thank it for exactly One Thing. 

Bobbi Morse. 

Jemma was sure she never would’ve noticed the blonde goddess any other way. It was just too improbable -- Bobbi ran track, played for the volleyball team and had five separate conversations with people before she even entered the building every morning.

She, on the other hand? All of her running was metaphorical -- if one counted running her mouth at the opponent during debate tournaments or running for the buzzer during academic decathalon. God forbid anyone talk to her while she was  _ in  _ the building, much less before she’d walked in. (Except Fitz and Daisy. Bless their hearts.) 

The first time she’d seen Bobbi Morse, she and Fitz had been paired up during the first of many gym class disasters, lovingly named FitzSimmons Fuckups after the third instance had involved one of them getting a bloody nose. 

(Fitz was fairly sure that Bobbi Morse had  _ been  _ what had caused Jemma to get a bloody nose in the first place, actually, having turned her head towards Bobbi when she’d first walked through the door and causing her to miss the basketball Fitz threw towards her. 

He was also certain he’d been the only one who’d seen the same Bobbi Morse in the corner later when Jemma was nursing a whole box of tissues and an ice pack, staring worriedly and gnawing at her lip.) 

There’d just been something that’d captivated Jemma about her, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. Had it been the sun hitting her ponytail while she ran? Had it been her laugh drifting across the court, dripping with honey and promise? Or had it been the odd feeling Jemma got in her stomach whenever she felt like clear blue eyes were trained on her? 

Well, whatever it was, it’d lead to this, her half-cocked plan of trying out for the volleyball team so Bobbi Morse  _ had  _ to notice her. After all, it was kind of counterproductive to  _ not  _ notice your own teammate. 

Jemma considered herself fit. Well, fit enough, at least, to be able to escape with her life if there was a murderer coming and fast enough to fix her experiments when they started to make the wrong types of noises. The  _ regular  _ kind of fit. And maybe she was vaguely aware of the requirements needed to be an athelete, but she figured she’d be able to power through, right? An 8-minute mile was nothing, right?  _ Right _ . 

She was still telling herself that as she stretched to warm up.  _ Arm, arm, leg, leg,  _ she reminded herself mentally. No need to look like a pile of nerves on the  _ outside _ . Whether she would puke from the ones on the inside remained to be seen.  _ But she wouldn’t puke, would she? The weather was fine, she hadn’t eaten anything upsetting, her anxiety levels weren’t  _ too  _ bad... _

“You’re drooling,” Daisy’s deadpan cut through Jemma’s internal pep talk like a pocketknife through soap. “I see Morse over in that direction, though, so I’m just gonna let that be.” She clapped Jemma on the back once more, and Jemma started before wiping the drool off of her chin sheepishly. Bobbi Morse had just stepped onto the track -- of _course_ Jemma had had to take a look, okay? She was only human. 

She looked even more beautiful than usual today, in her opinion. Maybe it was the sun shining a little brighter, maybe it was the lavender t-shirt supporting Triplett’s Run she had on (of  _ course  _ Bobbi Morse ran for the town’s most famous charity every year, of  _ course  _ she did), or maybe it was the waterfall of a ponytail she had cascading down her back. 

Or maybe it was the fact that she was staring right at Jemma, one eyebrow perfectly arched. 

Cheeks burning, Jemma dropped her gaze and tuned out Daisy’s stifled cackling in favor of making sure her shoelaces were tied.  _ What had just happened? Bobbi Morse? Staring at  _ her?  _ Had to be a trick of the light.  _

“You should’ve seen your face,” Daisy’s cackles had wound down to snickers, which turned into a sigh when they heard a whistle blow. “Alright, Simmons, time to show ‘em what you got. Remember, I’ll be right behind ya if you need me.” A clap on the back reminded Jemma exactly why she was grateful to have a friend like Daisy. 

One, she was supportive of all of Jemma’s crazy ideas. Two, she was the most patient when it came to Jemma’s crush-related rants -- not that there’d been many, mind her. And three, she’d grimly signed up to try out for the volleyball team beside Jemma despite the fact that she already had a spot on varsity softball. 

Needless to say, as they took their place at the starting line, Jemma had to admit she was especially glad for that last part. 

“Welcome to tryouts.” Armed with a clipboard and shrill whistle, Head Coach Melinda May was certainly living up to the rumors surrounding her. Jemma’d once heard that she’d chased a barely-late player around the soccer fields in the pouring rain for fifteen laps. With a  _ garden hose.  _

“As you all know, we’re going to have you all run the mile first before moving on to drills and seeing how your volleyball skills are. A quick reminder that the average time we expect here at SHIELD High is an eight-minute mile, so if by chance you  _ do  _ come over that, you might wanna start looking at the door.” Each of the volleyball players flanking her nodded solemnly. If she squinted, Jemma could recognize a few of them: Sam Arias, halfway to Julliard to study ballet, Izzy Hartley, whittling extraordinaire, even Victoria Hand, whose claim to fame had been the time she’d filled the class bully’s locker with manure. And Bobbi, of course. It would be a _crime_ to miss Bobbi. 

“I’ve got a couple of members of the JV team that’ll be standing at different points around the track just in case you get it into your head you’re going to pass out. But I’m sure we won’t get to that, will we?” With that, Coach May stepped to the side, letting the rest of the varsity players jog to their designated spots on the track. “I’ll see you all in the next eight minutes, yeah?”

_ TWEEEEEEET.  _

Jemma nearly tripped over her feet at the sound of the starting whistle, just saved by Daisy yanking the back of her shirt and forcing her upright. “C’mon, Jemma,” the other girl muttered. “I trained you better than this.” If Daisy counted Jemma staggering her way up and down the street while she sat on a lawn chair and ate donuts training, then sure. Daisy had trained her just fine. 

Still, there was no denying the steady  _ thump, thump  _ of her sneakers as she settled into a rhythm, the hot sun already baking down her back from when she’d been stretching earlier.  _ Just keep putting your feet forward,  _ she reminded herself.  _ Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.  _ All she had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other, and she’d be fine. Never mind that a good-sized amount of the people trying out were beginning to lap her. 

At least she could count on Daisy to be behind her. That had to count for something, right? 

TWEEEET! _ “Johnson! Did Coach Coulson send you? I swear, if I find out he’s behind you being at my tryouts...” _

“Fuck, Coach May caught me,” Daisy groaned, catching up with Jemma momentarily. “I gotta bounce before she gets rid of me herself.” 

“Bu --” If Daisy wasn’t behind her, who was going to make her look better than being in complete last place? Her whole plan depended on her not looking like a total idiot! 

“I know, I know, I didn’t think she’d recognize me with short hair either,” Daisy scowled. “But you can  _ do  _ this, okay, Jem? You  _ got  _ this. Go get the girl.” One last pat to her shoulder and she was off shouting apologies to Coach May as she went, leaving Jemma alone with her panicked thoughts and steadily slowing feet. 

_ Okay, yeah, she had to slow down.  _

As it turned out, trying to look graceful and sucking in lungfuls of air weren’t two activities that went very well together. Jemma supposed she just had to be grateful Victoria Hand and Izzy Hartley had chosen to look the other way when she half-staggered past them. 

_ Walk the bends, run the straightaways.  _ It was her backup plan for when she ran out of breath, so that she would at least regain  _ some  _ distance while not keeling over. She shot some of the other runners sympathetic grins as they passed her, some of them shooting back thumbs-up or glances of pity. 

The searing dryness in her chest had subsided somewhat by the time she crossed the starting line for the third time, and, slowing to a walk, Jemma stared down the loop of the track. Surely if she sprinted the last quarter mile, it couldn’t be too bad. A glance to her wristwatch confirmed the same thing: she’d already passed eight minutes by a landslide, bordering fifteen. There went her shot at the volleyball team. 

Good news: there seemed to be some natural-made stragglers behind her. All she had to do was finish ahead of them and at  _ least  _ she’d escape with  _ some  _ of her dignity. She hoped.  _ All right. Run the last lap it was.  _

Jemma stopped, squared her shoulders, and took a couple of deep breaths, willing herself to center. She broke into a light jog, ignoring how the stitch in her chest started up faintly once more. Nothing was going to get in the way of her crossing that finish line like she was finishing a race. 

_ Faster, now _ . Jemma could feel her feet slapping the pavement, even passing a few stragglers on her way. Her lungs were gasping for air at this point, only getting meager sips every time Jemma’s left foot left the ground. It made her arrival at the finish line all the more sudden, skidding into a pile of other hopefuls who hadn’t expected a sweaty, wild-eyed runner to smash gasping into their group. 

Breathe. She needed to breathe.

Jemma’s mouth seemed to be stuck open as she once again heaved in lungful after lungful of air, not caring who was watching or who was finishing after her. She was suddenly seized by a stitch in her side, causing her to gasp and take more air into her system. 

The side of her head seemed tingly.  _ Was that supposed to happen when you took in too much air at once, _ Jemma wondered woozily as she continued to try and take in air like a normal person. The fuzziness in her head spread to the back, to the front, and  _ why  _ was everything getting blurry ---?

“Oh no.”

* * *

“Is she okay?” 

“What happened to her?” 

“Oh, look, she’s waking up.”

“Is she? Everyone get back!” 

Blue. 

Blue was the first thing Jemma registered upon first cracking her eyelids open. Short, sharp blades of grass poking into her arms was the second thing, and the dryness of her mouth was  _ definitely  _ making a rude appearance. 

“Wha...”  _ What happened?  _ She’d finished the mile, right? She’d at  _ least  _ done that. Oh, God. To go and be the only one and pass out after Coach May had  _ specifically  _ said that anyone who passed out wouldn’t be there for much longer? She was going to be the  _ laughingstock  _ of high school. 

Why had she tried out for the volleyball team, anyways? 

“Hey, champ.” At that, Jemma wished for nothing more than to sink into the ground until she reached the Earth’s core. How in the  _ universe  _ had she gotten this unlucky? “You doin’ alright there?”

“What...what happened?” If Jemma didn’t open her eyes, it wouldn’t be real, right? All she had to do was not open her eyes and she could pretend this was some heat-induced dream. It  _ was  _ pretty hot out, after all. And it would maybe even be like taking a nap in the sun.  _ Yeah.  _ That sounded good. Keep her eyes closed it was. 

“Well, if you’ll open your eyes so I can make sure you’re all good, we can get to that,” There was that same amused voice, and Jemma just sighed, wrenching open her eyes. She’d really lost the battle with karma today, hadn’t she? 

Sat over her, with the same flowing ponytail and piercing blue eyes (although this time shrouded with a teensy bit of worry) and a tiny smirk on her face was none other than Bobbi Morse, a small flashlight twirling in her left hand and a water bottle in her right. “Simmons. Jemma Simmons, right?” 

At that, Jemma nearly fainted again. Bobbi Morse knew her  _ name _ ?  _ Nod, you dummy. Nod so she doesn’t think you’re stupid. Or worse, concussed.  _ “How do you know my name?” 

“You have a reputation, Jemma Simmons.” The smirk grew wider, and Bobbi handed her a bottle of water. Jemma took it, gulping it down. “It’s hard not to hear your name in the circles I run in.”

Jemma’s head was starting to spin faster than it had before she’d passed out. What did she mean when Bobbi said she’d heard her name in certain circles? What kind of circles was her name being passed around in? 

“That still doesn’t explain what happened.” 

“Well, hon,” Bobbi drawled. “Let me put this as best I can: you fainted...straight into my arms.” 

Jemma wondered how much she would have to pay one of the other girls to knock her out again. Preferably for an eternity or so until this whole thing blew over. She’d fainted into Bobbi’s Morse’s arms. Bobbi Morse’s muscled, capable, strong arms.  _ Lordt.  _ “I am so, so,  _ so,  _ sorry,” she said instead, sitting up. Bobbi, the little shit she was, continued to sit with the flashlight and water bottle. “Truly. I don’t make it a habit of falling into people’s arms, I promise you.” 

“Hope not,” Bobbi said mildly, clicking on the flashlight and shining it into Jemma’s eyes. “But you know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes,” Jemma choked on the swig of water she was taking, nearly spitting it on Bobbi in surprise while her cheeks heated so high she could boil water. “Frankly, Jemma, you know you didn’t even have to try out for the volleyball team.” Her second smile was kinder this time as she held out a hand to help Jemma up. “All you had to do was ask.”

_ Wha -- what --  _ Jemma was fairly sure her brain was short-circuiting.  _ Am I being punked?  _

“Just because we’re jocks doesn’t mean we can’t like science, too,” Bobbi was already uncapping a small Sharpie. “Arm.” Still in a semi-state of shock, Jemma held it out while Bobbi scribbled something onto it. “I know for a fact Johnson’s waiting for you in the parking lot, even though Coach kicked her out at the beginning. Go home. Get some rest.”

The present smacked Jemma in the face, and she was suddenly staring down the end of the weirdest and most embarrassing interaction she could ever remember having. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Um. Thanks. Thanks, Bobbi.” 

Bobbi winked. “See you in Weaver’s 4th period bio lab, Jemma. First time we’ll be in lab together. Hope your reputation doesn’t disappoint.” The tinier girl huffed, partly in frustration and partly in confusion -- how did Bobbi know her lab? “Like I said, your name travels in science circles. Sue me if I wanted to be partnered with the prettiest one in the Top 10.” 

“Alright, alright,” Coach May bit back a chuckle when she saw Jemma’s face flame once more. “Don’t kill the poor girl before the first day, Morse. Let her go.” Turning to Jemma, she sighed. “Go home, Simmons. I think it’s safe to say you’re not going to be on this team, yeah?” 

“Yes Coach May” was squeaked out before Jemma booked it to the parking lot, where, true to Bobbi’s word, Daisy was sprawled across the backseat of her car, gnawing on a pen while she puzzled over a crossword book. She snapped to attention when Jemma knocked on the window, however, frowning when a secondary glance told her tryouts were continuing. 

“What happened to you?” she asked as Jemma slid into the passenger seat. “Coach May decide you were too unfit off the bat? I knew I should’ve cut my hair shorter, she  _ never  _ would’ve thought I would’ve tried the Brie Larson look --” 

“I passed out,” Jemma said sheepishly instead, and Daisy had to stare incredulously at her for a few moments before figuring out that yes, Jemma was indeed serious. Before she could respond, however, her friend let out a hilarious addendum: “Bobbi caught me.” 

Daisy was  _ floored _ . Bobbi Morse? Bobbi  _ Morse  _ had caught her poor best friend, who’d happened to be crushing on her for God knew how long, in simple circumstance just like that? Wow. Where was  _ her  _ positive karma? She needed a meet-cute like that, pronto. “Well, what’d she say?” 

Jemma sheepishly scratched the back of her neck, the blush that had slowly slid down crawling back up her cheeks. “She said that I didn’t have to pass out at tryouts to get her to notice me. And then she scribbled something on my arm --” With a gasp, Jemma wrenched up her arm to squint at the neat set of numbers trailing down her forearm. “Her number. She gave me her number, Daisy.” 

Daisy’s loud squeal could be heard back across the outdoor track. 


End file.
